


Pretty Little Lovesick Fool

by Dearly_Divided



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Corruption, Defence Attorney John, Detective Rook, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, No Cult AU, Unresolved Romantic Tension, kind of, lawyer AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearly_Divided/pseuds/Dearly_Divided
Summary: Eleanor’s eyes widened a fraction before narrowing into a flinty glare. “Lawyer?” she asked slowly, pausing her stride.Joey scoffed, “I’ll give you three guesses who that slimy asshole’s hired to defend him.”She closed her eyes and muttered a curse. Of course it was going to be him, out of all the goddamned defence attorneys in the city, Moretti had to go and pick the one she had history with.
Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed
Comments: 15
Kudos: 62





	Pretty Little Lovesick Fool

Hushed whispers followed Eleanor Rook as she strode through the station, head held high, a fire burning in her eyes. Nobody uttered a word to her as she passed, though they made sure to give her a wide berth.

Everyone, that was, except for Joey.

“You look like shit,” she said casually, hopping off of her desk to walk alongside Eleanor as she marched across the bullpen. “You doing alright, Rook?” Her words were blasé, but the look in her eyes as she studied her friend was anything but.

“Just peachy,” Eleanor replied bluntly. “Where is he?”

Joey raised an eyebrow, “Who, Whitehorse?”

“Moretti.”

Hudson’s hand wrapped around her arm, jerking her to an abrupt halt. “He do this to you, El?”

Eleanor didn’t answer, but Joey could read well enough between the lines. A muscle in her jaw clenched as she shook her head in disgust. “That fucking asshole. You want me to-”

She cut her off, “Where is he?”

Joey’s brow furrowed, her face awash with concern. “Interrogation 3, but El-”

“I’m fine, Joey,” she grit out, shaking off her grip.

The older woman snorted, though she let Eleanor tear herself away and continue along her warpath, trailing after her. “Yeah, sure you are. Listen, I’m not gonna stop you if you wanna go down there and knock that piece of shit’s teeth in, but maybe wait until his lawyer isn’t in the room with him. You know, so you don’t get charged with police brutality and all?”

Eleanor’s eyes widened a fraction before narrowing into a flinty glare. “Lawyer?” she asked slowly, pausing her stride.

Joey scoffed, “I’ll give you three guesses who that slimy asshole’s hired to defend him.”

She closed her eyes and muttered a curse. Of course it was going to be him, out of all the goddamned defence attorneys in the city, Moretti had to go and pick the one she had history with.

“Wonderful,” she deadpanned, and this time Hudson had another chance to stop her she was stalking down the hallways, heading for Interrogation room 3.

But of course, Joey wasn’t the only one intent on stopping her that morning. As she rounded the corner, she came face to face with Staci - standing on guard outside the very room that she needed to get into. He looked up at her approach, a friendly smile already halfway across his face, but it fell at the sight of her.

“Jesus fuck, Rook, what the hell happened to you?” he asked, eyes wide as saucers as he took her in.

Eleanor ignored Staci’s comment entirely, nodding instead at the door behind him. “He in there?” she asked.

“Yes, but-”

She ignored him and made a grab for the handle but Staci shifted quickly, blocking her path.

“Eleanor, stop. You can’t just barge in there, he’s talking with his lawyer!”

Her eyes flashed dangerously, “You gonna stop me, Staci?”

Maybe it was the uncharacteristic scowl painted across her face, or the iron determination in her eyes, or maybe Staci just knew when to pick his battles, but regardless he sighed, stepping aside to let her through.

John’s eyes lit up as she stormed in. “Ah, Detective Rook, always a pleasu-”

“Shut up, Seed,” she snarled, her attention fixed on the weasely piece of shit lowlife Moretti, currently handcuffed to the table.

He smirked at her, and she had to beat down the urge to slap it off him. “Everything okay, Detective? You look a little… worse for wear,” he leered.

He wasn’t exactly wrong. Eleanor’s jaw was bruised and there was a nasty looking gash across her cheekbone and that wasn’t even touching on the painful patchwork of blues and greens that marred her skin beneath her clothes.

She just glared at him.

“You think sending your little armed goons after me is gonna make all this go away?” She scoffed, crossing the floor to crouch down in front of him, leaning close to whisper, “You may not know me very well, Moretti, but I’m not the type who scares easily. You try and threaten me like that again, and I’ll make sure you’re locked up somewhere you’ll never see the light of day again.”

Moretti chuckled. “If I were a lesser man, I might think that that was a challenge.”

Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, but with a disgusted snort she pushed herself away from him, turning her attention to John, who’d been watching the entire interaction with a frown.

“I know all defence attorneys are spineless degenerates, but I didn’t realise that you resorted to intimidation to win your cases, Seed,” she spat.

John’s eyes widened like she’d slapped him, but before he could get another word in, Eleanor turned on her heel and marched out of the interrogation room, relishing the sound of the door slamming shut behind her.

Ye whatever fleeting sense of victory she’d felt dissipated at the sight of her Captain standing in front of her, his face set in a distinctly disapproving scowl. His arms were folded across his chest, a single eyebrow raised as he regarded her - she watched his eyes darken as he took in the red gash that cut across her cheekbone, the purpling bruise on her jaw.

“My office,” he said. “Now.”

He walked away before she could even open her mouth, and there was nothing left to do but bite back a sigh and follow him back through the station to his office (though she made sure to shoot Staci - the little snitch - a glare as she passed him). As she settled into the leather seat opposite his desk, Whitehorse shut the door and her heart leapt into his throat. He didn’t say a word as he made his way to his own chair, but Eleanor felt his burning, judgmental gaze the whole way through.

She took a deep breath. From her experience, it was better to get ahead of these things. “Captain, I know you’re mad that I barged in there, but-”

“You recently join an underground fight club, Rook?” he asked instead, his voice deceptively calm.

She flinched all the same. “No, Sir.”

Whitehorse nodded, mulling her words over as he leaned back into his chair. “Yeah, didn’t think so. So you wanna tell me then why one of my best is storming through my precinct on the warpath looking like she went a few rounds with Rocky?”

Eleanor didn’t think she looked _quite_ that bad, but wisely kept her mouth shut about it. Still, there was no point in lying, especially when the Captain no doubt knew exactly what had happened, either due to Staci’s big mouth or his uncanny ability to seemingly know everything about everyone in his precinct.

“They were waiting for me when I got home; Moretti’s men, four of them.”

The Captain sighed. “Jesus, Rook… And you thought storming in there this morning and confronting him while he was talking to his lawyer - violating his rights, mind you- was the best thing for it?”

Eleanor shook her head, running her tongue over her teeth before speaking. “He thinks if he scares me enough, I’ll drop this case and let him walk away with no consequences, just like every other goddamned time he’s been in here before,” she said. “I needed him to know that I’m not going to roll over and back down on this. He deserves to pay for what he did.”

For a moment, Whitehorse didn’t reply. He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Rook, he’s not fucking around.”

“I know that.”

He seemed to hesitate for a minute before speaking, “… This about your sister?”

Eleanor’s eyes flashed, her hands tightening into fists on her lap. “With all due respect, Captain, this has _nothing_ to do with Elizabeth,” she said in a quiet voice. “Moretti murdered that girl. I don’t give a shit what the evidence says, it was done under his orders. He had his men torture her until she died bleeding and in agony and he thinks he’s going to get away with it because so far he’s gotten away with everything else and I won’t let that happen.”

Whitehorse shook his head with a weary sigh. “If I let you stay on this case, are you gonna do anything stupid like that again?” he asked.

“Probably,” she replied, her lips twitching up into the faintest hint of a smirk.

Her mentor just huffed, letting his eyes fall shut for just a moment, muttering something under his breath. When he looked at her again his expression was resigned - he looked older than she’d ever seen him and it made her gut clench uncomfortably. “Yeah, thought as much. Go home Rook, get some rest.”

“But-”

“Wasn’t a suggestion, kid. I’m not kicking you off the case, m’not stupid enough to believe you’d let it go regardless, but I need you with your head clear. Get out of here.”

Eleanor was out of her chair before he could change his mind, her hand already wrapped around the door handle when she heard him clear his throat.

“Rook?”

She turned to glance back at him.

“I’m putting Hudson on the case as well. Maybe she can keep you from getting yourself killed.”

Words of protest rose in her throat, but wisely she swallowed them back down, giving the Captain a curt nod before taking her leave. She felt his piercing stare burning a whole into her back with every step she took towards the elevators, but she pointedly ignored it. She knew he wasn’t screwing around - he might have relented this time, but he certainly wasn’t above taking the case away from her. Hell, she was lucky he hadn’t suspended her for the stunt she’d just pulled.

He might have been a hard-ass, but Whitehorse cared about his people and maybe, just this once, he was right; a clear head would do her good.

***

It didn’t surprise Rook, when she walked into work the following morning, to see Joey once again waiting at her desk, her arms folded over her chest, a knowing smirk written across her face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Eleanor asked, accepting the coffee Hudson offered her with one eyebrow raised.

Joey’s smirk widened, “Because you have a visitor, he’s been here for almost twenty minutes,” she said, jerking her head over toward the lounges near the coffee machine. “If I didn’t know better, Rookie, I’d say you have an admirer.”

With a pool of dread forming in her stomach, Eleanor turned and sure enough, sitting with a newspaper spread across his lap, pretending that he wasn’t keenly focused on their conversation, was John.

She let out a low groan, and Hudson patted her shoulder in faux sympathy. “Go get him, tiger.”

With a muted growl she set her freshly brewed coffee down onto her desk and stalked over to him.

John, not even attempting to hide his surprise at her approach, grinned widely. “Detective, you’re looking lov-”

But she wasn’t in the mood for his shit. Before he could finish his sentence, Eleanor smacked the newspaper out of his hand, grabbed his arm and all but yanked him to his feet.

“Come with me,” she muttered, and without another word she led him down the hallway. To his credit, John kept his silence as she ushered him into the first available room, shutting the door firmly behind her before whirling on him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked coldly.

If John was at all surprised by her demeanour, he hid it well.

“Are you in much pain, my dear?” he asked instead as he sat himself down on the edge of the table. “The bruises - they look like they hurt.”

If she didn’t know him as well as she did, Eleanor might _almost_ have believed that the concern written across his face was genuine.

“You didn’t come here to check up on me, John. What do you want?”

He made a noise of protest, “Aren’t I allowed to care, Deputy?”

“Not when you’re defending the piece of shit who did it,” she replied frostily.

John frowned, a little crinkle appearing between his brows, “Eleanor…”

“If you’re here to soothe your guilt, consider yourself soothed - I’m okay, John. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself just fine. Now if you _don’t_ mind, I have a case to work,” she snapped, turning for the door.

But John reached out to snatch at her wrist, halting her in her tracks. “Drop the case,” he said, his eyes almost burning in intensity as they flickered across her face. “Please.”

Eleanor could only shake her head in disbelief.

John had never been a shining pinnacle of grace and good virtue, but somehow she’d never thought he’d stoop this low. Sure, he flirted with her like it was his sole mission in life, and he liked to try and make her laugh and see her smile. He was softer with her than other people, more open and honest, but she wasn’t so naïve as to believe there was any true depth of feelings behind the attention John paid her. It was just sex; stress relief, if anything.

She’d be an idiot to think that John Seed could ever actually care about anybody but himself.

It wasn’t supposed to be personal. None of this was, but too many lines had already been crossed and Eleanor couldn’t deny the bitter sting of his words, the realisation that beneath it all, John was no better than the corrupt, evil men and women he defended.

“Are you trying to threaten me, John? Worried that Moretti’s goons didn’t do a good enough job last time?” she asked with a glare, ripping her hand out of his grasp. “I’m not going to drop this case, and if you ever try pulling something like this-”

“I’m not threatening you, Rook,” John said quietly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I’m asking you whether you think that pursuing this case - pursuing Moretti - is worth your life.”

Silence hung heavy in the air between them, and for a moment Eleanor could only stare at him wide eyed and gaping.

She expected men like Moretti to resort to fear tactics in order to get their way. Despite it all, she’d somehow expected better from John.

Silly her.

“I’m not scared of men like him,” she said eventually, pushing past him to go for the door. With one hand on the door handle, she paused, her blue-grey eyes meeting his once more. “Or men like you,” she added, and without another word, she left, letting the door slam shut behind her.

She ignored the worried look Joey shot her as she walked past her. Somebody called her name, Staci maybe, but she didn’t stop, didn’t even break her stride. It was only when she reached the sanctuary of the bathroom stall that Eleanor allowed herself to shatter, to let the tears come. With her hands braced either side of the wooden walls she came apart, allowing herself to feel the searing hurt, the pain that came with every breath.

Only for a second - one moment of weakness, of vulnerability. That was all she could afford. She had a job to do, and she wouldn’t let Moretti _or_ John get in her head.

And yet when the moment passed and Rook wiped away her tears, that mocking voice still echoed in her head.

_You pretty little lovesick fool._

The following week flew by far too quickly.

While Moretti was still in lockup she and Joey took crack after crack at him, but the smug bastard didn’t relent, his story didn’t change. They had nothing. Not enough evidence to charge him, certainly enough to convict. They knew it, Whitehorse knew it and John _definitely_ knew it. Even with the paper thin charges they’d managed to hold him on, the Judge eventually ruled to release him on bail, despite their argument that he was very much still a danger to others, if not a flight risk.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. The world worked differently for men like Moretti.

She’d had to stand at John’s side when the Judge delivered her verdict, but while Moretti had grinned that same sickening smile, his lawyer had been oddly silent. Instead of the gloating, arrogant confidence she’d become accustomed to, John looked strangely agitated, as if the verdict hadn’t been what he’d wanted. She pretended to ignore the less than subtle glances he shot her way, pretended not to hear him calling out to her as she swept down the courtroom steps.

John had made his point clear already, she couldn’t afford to waste any more time on him or whatever crumbling wreckage of a relationship was left between them.

But John was nothing if not persistent; she knew that.

Maybe that was why it didn’t come as a surprise when the sound of her doorbell chimed out just after midnight one rainy Wednesday night. There, standing on her front porch in his suit, his top button undone and tie hanging loose, hair tousled and still damp from the rain, was John.

“Can I come in?” he asked, a faint smile gracing his lips.

For one blissful moment, Eleanor contemplated slamming the door in his face and returning to the comfort of her own bed, but aside from being a charming, all too smug asshole, John was determined - even if she did tell him to leave she doubted he’d just accept it and go.

She cocked an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go back inside and get my gun, John.”

Anybody else might have sensed the threat in her words and thought better of it, but John didn’t even flinch - his smile only widened. “Because you like me too much to shoot me.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, “You’re unbelievable.”

And yet, she still didn’t move, and neither did he - but as the seconds ticked by something shifted in his gaze, the smirk on his face losing some of its charm as his eyes swept over her face, roaming over the healing bruises and cuts. Even when they were fighting it out on opposing sides, John always had the ability to make her feel like she was laid bare before him. His eyes, such a pretty blue, stripping away her defences, the masks she wore on a daily basis, to see what the truth of what lay beneath - her sins and virtues and everything in between. It wasn’t just her, of course, John just knew how to read people in general - it was half the reason why he was such a good lawyer. And yet, for all that he saw when he was with her, John never once made her feel that she wasn’t good enough. He knew her flaws better than most, but he never did judge her for them.

Sometimes she wondered if that was what drew him to her in the first place, or at least what kept him coming back. He seemed to be able to sense broken things. He seemed to like them.

Sometimes she wanted to hate him for it, but there, standing in the doorway wearing her favourite oversized fluffy sweater and an old pair of yoga pants, exhausted and aching, Eleanor just felt exposed and uncomfortable.

“What do you want, John?” she asked when the silence became too much to bear. “If you’re here to threaten me, can it wait? I’m tired, it’s late and my entire body hurts. I just want to go to sleep.”

His brow furrowed, his confident smile losing its lustre. “I’d never threaten you, my dear. Surely you know that by now?”

But she didn’t, not really.

Whatever there might have been between them once upon a time, it was just sex, nothing more. That was all it had _ever_ been.

John seemed to deflate a little as the silence stretched on. “Please, Eleanor. I’m not here to fight.”

It would have been easy to shut the door on him, but for whatever reason she sighed and offered him a shrug. “Fine, come on it,” she said, stepping back to allow him to pass through.

John’s blue eyes lit up beautifully, and Eleanor pointedly ignored the slight fluttering in her stomach as he grinned.

“You still have that scotch?” he asked, wiping his feet on the welcome mat before stepping inside.

Eleanor sighed, nodding. “Yeah, you’re the only one who ever drank it,” she murmured. “Help yourself.”

With a fond smile, John did just that, breezing past her into the kitchen to find himself a glass. She just stood back and watched as he made himself at home, easing her liquor cabinet open to search for his beloved whiskey. Neither of them spoke as he unscrewed the lid, tipping the neck of the bottle down to pour the amber liquid into the glass. He wouldn’t worry about ice or any fancy garnishes - he liked it neat, all the better to appreciate the taste, or so he’d told her one night a long time ago.

“Do you want one?” he asked, knowing full well what her answer would be.

And yet, Eleanor still found herself smiling softly. “No, I’m fine.”

John shrugged, twisting the cap back on the bottle and stashing it away. “Does it smell like vanilla in here? And… cinnamon?” he asked as he picked up his glass and ushered her back into the living room.

Eleanor nodded absentmindedly, “I was baking earlier, sue me.”

John laughed at that, a soft, fond little smile adorning his face as he watched her settle onto the love seat, taking the big, plush armchair across from her for himself.

“You always did like to bake when you were stressed,” he commented.

She sighed, he hadn’t come all the way here in the middle of the night to talk about baking or whiskey. “So talk, John. What do you want?”

He shrugged, “Why this case?”

Eleanor settled back on her couch, tucking her legs up under her. “It’s my job,” she said simply. “What else am I supposed to do?”

John shot her a look over the rim of his glass as he took a sip. “ _Please_ , my dear, you’re going to have to try a _little_ better than that. Tell me the truth - why is this case different?”

She sighed, suddenly wishing that she had a drink of her own. There was a reason that John had turned up to her place in the middle of the night to talk with her, but instead of coming out and saying what needed to be said, he was going to make her play games. She could be as evasive as she liked, but the truth of the matter was that if she ever wanted to find out why he was bothering her rest, she’d have to play along. “The girl he had killed-”

“Mia,” he murmured quietly, causing Eleanor’s eyes to widen just a fraction. Right from the very beginning, it had only ever been _The_ _Victim_. He never knew their names, or at least he never spoke them - even in court he limited himself to their surnames, if that. Maybe it humanised them too much, maybe he just didn’t care, but nevertheless John speaking much less knowing Mia’s name at all surprised her.

“Mia,” she confirmed, eyeing him oddly. “She was an informant.”

John nodded, “I know, it’s the reason Moretti had her killed - she stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, went snitching to the police and he found out.”

Something tightened in her chest. That John could speak so cavalierly about his client’s guilt; he knew - he _had_ to know - that Moretti was guiltier than sin. But now wasn’t the time to fight about that, it would do neither of them any good. “She was _my_ informant.”

John’s head tilted as he studied her. “That’s why you’re so hellbent on this, why you’re gunning for a man when the evidence you have doesn’t back you up; you feel _responsible_.”

The way he said it, the sick sense of satisfaction that dripped from his tone at having figured out the _puzzle_ made her insides twist into knots. But as quickly as it had appeared, John’s gratified smile faded, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not even you’d do something as stupid as risking your life going up against somebody like him over mere guilt. There’s something more, something you’re not telling me.”

A flash of indignation flickered through her at his words. “Why not? Why isn’t guilt enough?” she snapped.

John took another sip of his whiskey, swirling the alcohol around in his glass as he met her gaze. “Because you’re smart, my dear. Stubborn as a mule, but smart enough to know that even if you did manage to get this case to court, before a jury - if Moretti lets you live that long - you don’t have a hope in hell of getting a conviction,” he said with a derisive scoff. “Your evidence is circumstantial at best. Every single person in that courtroom will know that he’s guilty, but it won’t matter because even a subpar lawyer could poke enough holes in your story to give plausible deniability. You don’t have a smoking gun, you have a nice story, but that’s not how our justice system works and you know it. So either you’re an idealistic idiot, or this is personal.”

Throughout his little speech, John had shifted on his seat, leaning in closer towards her as he spoke. There were only a few inches left separating them - he was close enough that if she wanted to, she could reach out, take his face in her hands and press her lips against his. The way he was looking at her, those burning blue eyes that drank her in, the familiar scent of his cologne permeating the air around them, it made her head spin, her heart race.

And suddenly it was all too much.

Eleanor lurched away from him, skittering to her feet - shaking, tears burning unshed behind her eyes.

“Why the hell are you here, John?!”

She half expected another quip, but John just set his glass calmly on her coffee table, standing up and walking over towards her.

“Because I’m trying to stop you from doing something monumentally stupid,” he said, mirroring her steps.

“Why?! Why the _fuck_ do you care, John?!” she cried, backing away from him. “You said it yourself, it’s an easy win - a slam dunk, why does it matter if I let it go or not?”

Her back hit the wall and Eleanor bit her lip as he stepped up into her personal space. John’s eyes swept across her face, his hand gently reaching out to twine his fingers around hers. “Is it really so difficult for you to believe that I actually care about you? That I don’t want to see you hurt? That I might just lo-”

“Yes!” she yelled, cutting him off.

And suddenly, John’s lips were on hers.

It was just for a second, one brief, dizzying second and as quickly as the kiss had it had started it was over, and his forehead was resting against hers.

John’s voice shook as he spoke, “He’s going to kill you, El.”

She licked her lips, shaking her head, “No, he-”

John’s hand squeezed around her own. “I heard him say it. If you don’t let this go, he’s going to come for you, and if he can’t get to you he’ll find the people you care about and he’ll hurt them instead. I wouldn’t ask this of you otherwise, you have to know that darling,” he said, his eyes flickering intensely over her face. “But you _have_ to let this go. Please, I-I can’t watch…”

His other hand reached up to gently cup her cheek, mindful of her injuries, his thumb brushing at the single stray tear that fell.

His touch was warm, his hands soft and gentle - this was the John that she’d missed, the one she so rarely saw. She shut her eyes, leaning into the comfort he so readily offered. “And I can’t give this up. He’s guilty John, he can’t walk away from this, too.”

“Why not?” he whispered. “You and I both know the world isn’t just or fair. Bad people don’t always get punished for the wrongs they do, why do you have to risk your life making sure this one does?”

Eleanor swallowed, her throat tightening as she tried to speak. “Five years ago, my sister - Elizabeth- she got tangled up in something she shouldn’t have, and it cost her her life. She died like Mia did.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” John whispered.

She nodded. “I know,” she said. “But the man who did it to her… he was like Moretti. He was a crime boss and the detectives on her case wouldn’t charge him. They have some bullshit excuse about jeopardising a bigger investigation, but the truth was they were just scared of going after him. I learned that day that there were different rules for men like him and Moretti, in this city, no matter what they do, they always walk free and I can’t let it happen again.”

“El…”

“I can’t, John. I’m sorry.”

John’s eyes squeezed shut as he took a deep breath in. The fingers that held her hand let go, his arm reaching around her back, pulling her closer to him. Eleanor didn’t resist when his lips found hers once more. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, as if he wanted her to feel every ounce of emotion he had for her. His tongue, still tasting of whiskey, swept into her mouth and Eleanor felt like she was burning - not the raging inferno his kisses usually invoked, the ones that left her breathless and dizzy and feeling so _alive_ , but a slow smoulder that warmed her from the inside out.

He sighed as they broke apart, pressing another kiss against the tip of her nose. “I should hate you for this, you know,” he murmured.

Eleanor frowned and John chuckled, stroking her cheek once more. “I have never been interested in doing the right thing. My career, fuck - my entire _life_ has been built on lies and dishonesty. Most of my clients are guilty, they’ve done awful things and I’ve helped them walk away free and so long as they’ve paid well, I’ve slept easy.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but John shook his head, pressing a finger against her lips, quelling whatever thought she’d been about to voice.

“I need you to understand that if it was anybody else, I would have stood by and let the chips fall where they may. Your friends, the other detectives, I don’t give a shit what happens to them, but I won’t let you get hurt. I refuse to lose you, Eleanor,” he broke off, kissing her again. “But for me to do that, I have to go against every instinct I have - for the first time in my life, you’re making me do the right thing.”

A million and one thoughts were swirling through her head, but the only thing she could manage to utter was a bewildered- “What?”

John let her go for just a moment, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. Eleanor frowned in confusion when he pulled out a small, black thumbdrive.

“Moretti’s men are careless,” he explained with an unsteady grin, gently unfurling her fingers so that he could drop the USB into her open palm. For a moment she just stared at it, before slowly raising her eyes to meet John’s. “There’s not enough there to convict him for what he did to Mia, I’m sorry, but there’s other files on there - incriminating files.”

“You… how? I-I don’t-”

“It doesn’t matter. But you understand, don’t you, what handing this over will mean?”

She did. If what he said was true, and the drive contained enough evidence to lead to a conviction, Moretti would come for him.

It wouldn’t take him long to figure out how the cops came upon the information, hell, if he had so much as a flicker of doubt in John’s trustworthiness, if he so much as suspected his lawyer’s involvement…

He’d kill him.

“Why would you…” she trailed off.

His fingers wrapped gently around hers, closing them over the drive. “I’m being selfish, don’t you see? I’m keeping you safe, the only way I can.”

But Eleanor shook her head, her eyes wide, mouth opening and closing as she tried to find the right words. “But you’ll have to go into protective custody-”

John chuckled grimly, “You and I both know that he has eyes in there, I wouldn’t last a week. If I do this for you, I have to run - leave everything I’ve built here behind. Start fresh somewhere else. A new life.”

Suddenly John’s hands felt too warm over her own, but even if she wanted to move away, she was utterly frozen in place.

“Do you take him for the kind of man who’ll go quietly, Eleanor?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper as he leaned in close, his nose brushing against hers. “That’s the price for the fall of a man like Moretti. It’s your choice my dear, but if you want him locked away, then we can’t be here to see it through.”

_We._

There wasn’t a doubt in John’s mind that if they ran, they ran together.

It was a ridiculous idea, beyond stupid. She’d built her career here, her friends were here, her family. This wasn’t something people just did, she’d never been one to tuck her tail between her legs and flee for safety - she was rash and impulsive and foolishly headstrong. It was half the reason she was in this mess. Eleanor hated the idea of running from Moretti, no matter the reasons.

… But what other option did she have? If she stayed and fought, what would come of it? John wasn’t wrong, Moretti would walk and he would come after her regardless to set an example. That in and of itself didn’t scare her, but the thought of what he might do to the people she loved if he couldn’t get to her did.

And if they were gone, who could question where John’s evidence had come from at all, much less whether it was legally obtained. If it was to suddenly appear one morning on a police Captain’s desk with an unsigned note attached, who could argue against that?

It came down to a choice; what mattered more to her - justice for a murdered girl or the life she’d built in Atlanta?

“Do you trust me?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching her face.

Eleanor bit her lip as she met John’s gaze but after a long moment, she gave a hesitant nod.

He gasped softly in relief at her words, a small, contented smile breaking across his face. “It won’t be forever, darling. This is the right thing to do, I promise,” he whispered.

“Where do we go?”

“Montana,” he said, cupping her cheek in his hand as he leaned in to press a chaste kiss against her lips. “My brothers have property up near the mountains. We’ll be safe up there.”

 _Montana_ , she thought as she lost herself to another kiss. _It sounded beautiful_.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys are all doing okay with everything that's been going on, and I hope you liked the fic. Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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